


Theirs

by j_gabrielle



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Comfort, Drabble, M/M, Prompt Fill, canon character death, short fill, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:38:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3431588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is something that exists only in the undersides of tenderness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Theirs

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted on Tumblr here1>](http://randomingoftherandomness.tumblr.com/post/111992603102/the-last-one-was-beautiful-so-heres-another)

Eggsy doesn’t know if he can ever truly get used to the way Merlin touches him. It is intense, focused. Merlin is methodical in all his actions. This is something that exists only in the undersides of tenderness.

Theirs has never been about love.

Merlin never speaks, does not have a cause to. It’s all right by Eggsy’s book. He doesn’t have a thing to say either. 

Theirs routinely happens after a mission - Eggsy getting cut, disobeying the stern suggestions from his ear piece, risking himself unnecessarily - with a quick debrief and a detour to the nearest available room.

It is messy. It is quick. It is something they hide in the dark.

Theirs starts with Eggsy reaching and Merlin pulling. It begins with biting kisses circling around pain. It becomes pushing and straddling and rocking. It moves into finding whatever release and relief. It results in satiation without dulled nerves. 

It also exists too, outside the confusion that veils those acts in the dark, in the moments where Merlin catches him before he falls. It blooms and flowers in the quiet spaces when Eggsy dwells too long on the one he’d lost.

Theirs becomes theirs in how Merlin is the first person Eggsy turns to for things now - be it silence or a moment of respite or the warmth of a human body next to his. Theirs is Merlin pulling him from the abyss of his own mind.

It warms him in the gentler kisses trailed down the line of his shoulder. It makes him shudder under Merlin’s clever, clever hands.

Theirs is not love, and perhaps never was. Theirs is comfort and a reminder of the living. Theirs needs no words.

**Author's Note:**

> [Come talk headcanons and prompts with me :) ](http://randomingoftherandomness.tumblr.com/ask)


End file.
